


Pandora's Box

by Angel Grace (angel_grace01)



Series: Into My Brother's Keeping [2]
Category: MAY Karl - Works, Winnetou - Karl May
Genre: Confessions, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2485607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_grace01/pseuds/Angel%20Grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To know, to feel, to love. Once released from Pandora's box, the knowledge can't be unlearned. Then again, why would they want to?<br/>---<br/>Because the Winnetou & Old Shatterhand stories read like a declaration of love anyway.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revelations

It was one of those gorgeous American nights. Their small indian style campfire offered enough heat to cook their food and coffee and the full moon and bright stars made the world nearly as bright as day.

The light made It was all too easy for Charlie to see how Winnetou stared at him, opened his mouth as if to speak, then turned away as he’d so often done recently, touching things aimlessly. A schism had opened up between the two brothers, one comprised of fleeting glances and averted looks on Winnetou’s side and total incomprehension on Charlie’s part. Never a man of many words, Winnetou barely had spoken at all this last week, choosing to walk from his brother, rather than speak to him.

Old Shatterhand could no longer stand it. He called out: “Something troubles my brother?”

That stopped Winnetou’s restless hands, at least, but his answer was as awkward as their other conversations had been these last few days. “All is well. Winnetou shall take first watch.” He rose to do exactly that, never meeting his brother’s eyes.

Unable to bear this situation for a minute longer, Charlie rose as well and clasped Winnetou’s arm, “I have never known my brother’s voice to tell lies, but his demeanour does so now. Please Winnetou, whatever ill judged actions on my part have changed your heart towards me, tell me so I may make amends, I beg you.”

Winnetou closed his eyes and swallowed thickly, turning towards his friend with an air of defeat. “It is not with my brother that the fault lies, but with Winnetou. Please Sharlih, do not question me further. I do not wish to see your eyes turn from me in disgust.” With that, he tried to pull his arm free but Charlie stubbornly held on.

“I swear to you, my brother, there is nothing in you that could ever disgust me.” Old Shatterhand tried to catch Winnetou’s eyes, but the despair in them nearly made him lose his grip on the Apache’s arm.

With the air of a condemned man, Winnetou conceded. “Does my brother recall the last pueblo we stayed in?”

The non-sequitur threw Charlie for a second, but he just nodded.

“There was a… house next to our hotel.” Winnetou emphasised the word ‘house’.

Charlie coloured slightly, recalling the bawdy house that been right next to their sleeping accommodations. While it wasn’t the kind of place either of them ever frequented, they’d come across these places before during their stays in populated areas. Winnetou had never seemed troubled by them before, though.

“While caring for our horses that last light, Winnetou heard noises in the alleyway separating the two buildings.” Winnetou’s bronze skin darkened considerably. “It was a cowboy together with someone from the house.” He looked down at the ground. “They were both men.”

This made Charlie pause. Having studied both the bible and ancient texts extensively, he knew this kind of perversity existed. Such a scene would have shaken him as well, but he still didn’t see what would cause Winnetou’s behaviour these last days.

“I am sorry that seeing this distressed my brother, but…”

“No, my brother Sharlih misunderstands,” Winnetou interrupted him, his eyes suspiciously bright, “Winnetou envied them, because he wants his brother’s touch in that way and cannot stop himself wishing for it!” He finally pulled his arm loose from Old Shatterhand’s slack grip and strode away, head bent.

Charlie was left behind, frozen in place as his mind tried to make sense of his brother’s parting words. Winnetou, his blood brother, the truest friend he had ever had, wished to commit this sin with him?

Without grace, Old Shatterhand dropped beside the campfire. He truly could not comprehend this. How could the chief of the Apaches, the most noble of men, want this? Want… him?

Charlie raked his hands through his hair. He had to… he should… he had to think.

Unbidden, several of those ancient texts he’d read came to his mind. The kind of greek texts that he wasn’t supposed to know existed, but which had been given to him by a trusted teacher because they wanted to make sure his education was well-rounded. He recalled the tone of those texts. They spoke not of sin, but of deep care and trust.

Had he not always felt that way about Winnetou? Had he not trusted the man with his safety and his friendship? And hadn’t that trust been justified, time and again?

To love a man as one would love a woman had never entered his mind, but didn’t he love his brother already, if not in that way? Could he? Should he? Would he?

In the end, it was the broken look in Winnetou’s eyes as he left, that made Charlie get up and follow his friend’s trail.

He soon found him sitting with his legs pulled up on a small hill overlooking the valley. If Charlie needed any proof of the love he felt for his brother, just feeling the squeeze to his heart as he saw his brother’s desolate attitude told him enough.

Kneeling behind him, he wrapped his arms around Winnetou’s shoulders and rested his head between his shoulderblades.

Winnetou stiffened but made no other move, seemingly not even breathing.

Charlie simply started talking, still unsure of what he was going to say: “my brother’s words are… unexpected. I… I can not… I find my mind… unsettled. I will swear this though: I still consider my brother the best of men and care for him deeply. I will never turn from him in disgust.”

Those words made a shuddering breath leave the body in his arms, taking some of the tension with it. They sat like that for a long time, overlooking the moon washed valley.


	2. Holding Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New ideas always require a period of adjustment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appologise it took me so long to post this second chapter, even though it's incredibly short. I promise, the entire story is written and WILL be posted once I've given it a little spit and polish.

Alas, nothing had truly been resolved. The following days were awkward to say the least. The easy rapport which had existed between the two bloodbrothers almost from the moment they laid eyes on each other seemed irredeemably lost.  
  
Winnetou was as honorable a man as ever, going out of his way not to approach Old Shatterhand in any fashion that might be deemed offensive. As a result, the casual touches they had always shared as their own form of communication were completely non-existent.  
  
Charlie often felt Winnetou’s heavy gaze resting on him, wordlessly asking for answers the frontiersman didn’t have. Not yet at least, even though Charlie caught himself several times staring at his brother’s strong frame.  
  
Winnetou truly was a man above men. He moved with a grace and strength that were only surpassed by his gentleness. Watching him just now, caring for Iltchi and brushing the stallion’s midnight coat, Charlie found himself lulled into a trance by the rhythmic movement, and unconsciously leaned closer.  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut and balling his fists, Old Shatterhand turned away from the mesmerizing sight. He was in trouble. Winnetou’s admission had opened Pandora’s box and there was no closing it again. He had always loved Winnetou, but now… now he noticed.  
  
Now the strong lines of his brother’s form made him swallow thickly, the shimmer of that raven hair could mesmerise him without even trying and the curve of his cheek made him reach out in vain. Everything he’d been taught told him loving men was wrong, but how could a love this powerful be wrong? When all was said and done, Charlie knew he would gladly lay down his life if it meant saving Winnetou’s, no matter the cost.  
  
As for his body’s wants… he knew he could ignore them, surely he could. Except, Winnetou wanted as well. His brother asked so little of him, to deny him, to deny the both of them… But he had to. It was the right thing to do. Wasn’t it?


	3. Culmination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A single event kickstarts change.

The ambush had come as a complete surprise.

Their travels had lead them through a familiar canyon, a place where the landscape formed a natural bottleneck. While such places were always a reason to be cautious, everything had appeared tranquil. Nothing had stirred and neither Winnetou’s keen eyes nor Old Shatterhand’s sharp ears had detected anything amiss. 

A barrage of bullets suddenly tore apart the peaceful morning. 

Old Shatterhand stared in horror at the blood that bloomed on his brother’s left shoulder as they both ran for what little protection the barren area might afford. They were effectively pinned, unable to move or get a good aim.

Pressing themselves into the insufficient shelter of a couple of trees and an outcropping of rocks, they looked at each other, both men aware of the desperate situation they were in. Winnetou’s face didn’t betray any pain, though blood was slowly trickling from his shoulder where the bullet had gone through and his arm was hanging uselessly by his side. 

Only one thought went through Charlie’s mind when their eyes met: ‘I don’t want this man to die. I’ll die myself before I let him fall.’ Something must have shown on his face, because Winnetou breathed in sharply and tightened his jaw.

Before Charlie could stop him, Winnetou’d grabbed his revolver and had left their inadequate shelter, taking aim at the entrenched outlaws. As if by miracle, two of his shots hit their mark. With a cry of pain two opponents fell. The third bandit however, had taken the highest point and was out of the small handgun’s reach. Two shots rang, the second accompanied by Winnetou’s pained intake of breath as he fell.

Old Shatterhand’s whole world shattered. Suddenly, nothing mattered anymore. Without hesitation, Charlie stepped outside of his shelter and took careful aim with his bear killer, uncaring of how exposed he was. In that split second between first showing himself and inevitably becoming a victim himself, Old Shatterhand hit the third outlaw square in the head. The man fell out of sight without a sound, his rifle clattering down the canyon. 

Charlie didn’t care. He’d long thrown away his own firearm and rushed over to kneel by his brother. Winnetou lay unmoving in a crumpled heap, blood pooling all around him.

“No no no nonono…” A broken litany of denial spilled from his lips as he gathered Winnetou’s crumpled form in his arms. 

Those expressive eyes were closed, the raven locks matted with blood. Winnetou couldn’t be dead, he just couldn’t. Charlie tried to feel for a heartbeat, but his trembling hands made it impossible. Desperate, he finally pressed his cheek to Winnetou’s nose and waited. Finally feeling a soft exhale of air, a sob escaped Charlie’s throat. 

“Sharlih…” The soft whisper sounded sweeter than angel’s song as Charlie looked up into his brother’s slightly hazy eyes. Unthinking, or rather uncaring of the consequences, he pressed his lips to Winnetou’s. It was only Winnetou’s sharp intake of breath that brought Charlie back to his senses. 

Oh god, what was he doing? Old Shatterhand pulled back, shaken. Unable to dwell on exactly what he’d just done and what it meant, he set about assessing his brother’s condition. 

Meanwhile Winnetou had fallen unconscious again, a slight smile gracing his lips. Charlie felt a sudden flutter in his abdomen but shook it off. Right now there were more pressing issues to address.

\------------------------------

Old Shatterhand quickly pulled off his coat and made Winnetou as comfortable as possible on the canyon floor, then rushed to take a look at their attackers, in order to assess their potential threat. 

All three men were dead, their passing no great loss as far as the frontiersman was concerned. Not caring what happened to the human flotsam that had caused them such distress, he left their bodies for the elements and rushed back to his bloodbrother.

Charlie really didn’t want to move Winnetou, but they had no choice. They were far too exposed on the canyon’s bare floor. Making a travois would take too long and trying to get the unconscious man into a saddle would jostle him too much, so he carefully gathered Winnetou in his arms and stood up, carrying him bridal style to the end of the canyon and the cavern he could just make out in the shadows of the rock face. Hatatitla and Iltshi, noble steeds that they were, not only had stayed close to their masters during the firefight, they knew enough to follow him now of their own volition.

Taking down the saddle blankets, Charlie quickly made a comfortable bed for Winnetou just inside the protective walls. He found that the light of the early afternoon was sufficient, to assess the damage, even in the gloom of the cavern. The bullet that had torn through Winnetou’s shoulder had done quite a bit of tissue damage, but there was little he could do about that now apart from cleaning and bandaging the wound. 

The wound in Winnetou’s left thigh was more troubling. The bullet had lodged itself firmly in his flesh and Charlie knew there was no other choice, he had to cut it out. If the bullet were to stay in there, the risk of infection and even septicemia would be high. He briefly closed his eyes. They were lucky, the bullet had gone into the fleshy part of the thigh and there wasn’t too much blood, indicating no major arteries had been hit. If only he could extract the bullet without causing too much additional damage... 

Charlie built a small, indian style fire close by, knowing he’d need it soon. After cutting off Winnetou’s legging to expose the wound, he placed his knife into the small flames to cleanse it. Charlie What followed were ten of the longest minutes of his life. Enlarging the entry wound, using his fingers to dig around inside his blood brother’s leg until he finally could grasp the sharp metal between his two fingers and pull it out, left Charlie shaken and pale. Through it all, even when he stitched up the hole and pressed his fiery hot blade down to cauterize the wound, Winnetou never stirred.

Having dealt with the larger wounds, Old Shatterhand could finally take a look at Winnetou’s head. There too, a small amount of blood lingered, but no injury was apparent until he checked the back of Winnetou’s head, where blood-matted hair hid a good sized bump with a small cut in its centre. Clearly, Winnetou had hit his head when he fell, which explained his prolonged unconsciousness.

Time passed, the shadows in the canyon grew longer and Winnetou continued to slumber.   
Sitting with his brother’s head in his lap, Charlie stared unseeingly at the cave’s entrance. He’d kissed him. Kissed Winnetou. These words kept whirling through his mind. Granted, some of it had been the relief of finding his bloodbrother alive, but… 

Old Shatterhand wasn’t a coward, nor was he a liar, even to himself. Ever since Winnetou had confessed his feelings, strange thoughts had entered his mind, refusing to leave. Every night Charlie’d looked upon the curves of the Apache chief’s body as he’d slept. Every night he averted his gaze, lest he give in to temptation to reach out… to touch. These last few nights, he’d been drawn again and again to the curve of Winnetou’s cheek, the bow of his lips… and now he knew how they felt. 

Charlie closed his eyes, the memory of that fleeting contact flooding his body. All the reasons why this could never be, why it was wrong were still there. He sighed. The feelings washing through him didn’t seem base or wrong. His heart was fit to burst with love for his brother. How could that ever be a sin? Wasn’t love the greatest gift of god?

“Sharlih?”

Winnetou’s soft voice pulled him from his reverie. Blushing, Charlie tried to remove his hand from where it’d been unconsciously caressing the side of his brother’s face.

“No.” Winnetou caught the retreating hand with his own and pressed it back against his cheek. “My brother Sharlih…”

The joy in those limpid eyes, coupled with his own relief over seeing Winnetou finally awake, made the love in his heart overflow. Before he knew it, Charlie’d bent down and pressed his lips - yet again - against his bloodbrother’s. 

For a single eternal minute Winnetou didn’t move. Then his hand released Charlie’s and grasped his hair, pulling him even closer. Both unused to kissing with passion, their lips soon found a natural rhythm of give and take.

It was an undetermined amount of time later before either was willing to part from the other. Both breathing heavily, Charlie sat up wincing, his back complaining from being folded almost double for so long.

Winnetou lay back again, his eyes closed and a content smile playing around his lips. “My brother… my Sharlih…”

Old Shatterhand hummed in agreement as he too closed his eyes for a moment. Yes, Winnetou’s, as surely as Winnetou was his. He knew they had a difficult road ahead of them, but as long as they had each other, all would be well.

The end… of the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Karl May wasn't exactly politically correct in his stories. I've tried to keep Old Shatterhand's reactions close to what a 19th century man's might have been. This does not mean that I share his initial views on homosexuality in any way, shape or form.


End file.
